Total pages in book: 244
Estimated words: 236705 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1184(@200wpm)___ 947(@250wpm)___ 789(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 236705 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1184(@200wpm)___ 947(@250wpm)___ 789(@300wpm)
“Impressive,” Jude says, stretching out the word in obvious admiration. Then he chuckles, sounding almost like a villain in a flick—but an endearing one. “You can’t trick me, though.”
With the gauntlet thrown, I have no choice but to test him. “Let’s put this to the test right now,” I say, hopping out of bed to hunt for my phone in the kitchen. I return with it, clicking through the camera roll. I show him a picture of my brother and me from the night in question. We’re standing on a street in San Francisco. “What do you think? Is this before or after the shirt change?”
With a smile, the man in bed with me rolls his eyes. Lazily, without a care in the world, he points to the screen, selecting me in a heartbeat. “Child’s play.”
Damn. Jude has game. “How’d you know? I showed this to Nolan and Jason. They didn’t get it.”
“Jason’s the quarterback for the San Francisco Hawks?”
“Yes, he’s Nolan’s brother, and a good bud of mine too. Hazel didn’t get it either, and she’s pretty astute.”
Turning to his side, he props himself on his elbow, looking right at me. “It’s your eyes, TJ. That’s all I need to see. I know how the brown in them darkens when you’re trying to understand a man, how the gold flecks intensify when filled with affection. How your eyes go all dreamy sometimes when you look at me, and you think I don’t notice,” he says, and my face flushes. I’ve never felt so . . . transparent. Jude brushes his fingers along the ends of my hair, his thumb coasting down my cheek. “And I know too how they shimmer with heat when you’re about to fuck me.”
I. Am. A. Furnace.
The things Jude does to me are unfairly sexy.
He sees through me. He understands me. He makes me want to tell him things I haven’t told anyone. This is the Jude I’ve missed the most—intuitive, confident, vulnerable, giving. This is the man who makes me want to share pieces of myself, stories I haven’t told.
But I can’t just yet.
It’s too soon.
I can do this much, though. I draw him close. Kiss him soft and tender. It’s a dreamy, lingering kiss. The kind you get lost in. A kiss that wraps around you like a warm blanket.
It’s a kiss you don’t want to leave.
My lips explore him slowly as if I’m imprinting the way we touch into my mind. I want to memorize the shape of his mouth, the taste of his lips, the feel of his pleasure so I can recall every second tomorrow and the next day. With each kiss, I slow down a little more, recording every detail as I slide my fingers through his hair, along his neck, down to his chest.
When I pull back, he sighs like he can’t believe I just kissed him like that.
“Maybe I’ll write a long, endless kiss,” I say.
“Then you should do more fieldwork,” he says, inviting me for seconds.
I say yes with my mouth, greedily taking more. I may need to store them up for the long winter. I don’t know if I’ll kiss him tomorrow or ever again.
At some point after midnight, we stop. The moon’s illuminating the pillow now. “Goodnight, Jude,” I say into the dark.
“TJ?” His voice is gentle, a little contrite.
“Yeah?”
“I’m sorry about LA.”
I sigh softly. “I’m sorry too.”
It’s just the beginning of healing. Of starting again. There’s so much more to unpack, but at least we’ve unzipped the suitcases.
In the morning, though, I’m not thinking about apologies or endings.
I’m writing.
PART TWO
After That Night
Do Good Things Come in Threes?
16
WALK OF SHAME
Jude
Yawning, I pad down the hall, running a hand through my bedhead and blinking as I take in a picture that’s almost too good to be true—TJ at work.
Sex doesn’t solve everything, but it’s a good start. So’s the sight of TJ on my couch, hunched over, tapping away on his phone.
“Are you . . .” I pause since I don’t want to break the spell, “. . . writing?”
TJ doesn’t even look away from the tiny device. “Yup.”
A grin lights me up from head to toe. “That’s better than chocolate biscuits.”
TJ drags his gaze away from the screen to shoot me a quick smile, then he returns to his device, fingers flying.
“Well, my work is done,” I say, practically strutting into the kitchen to put on the kettle. As it heats up, I steal some more glances at the man I was once in love with. He’s enrapt, and I love seeing that. But as he types feverishly, his fingers curl into claws. I don’t love that.
“TJ,” I say sternly.
He doesn’t notice.
I say his name louder. “TJ.”
He lifts his face. “Yeah?”
“Go home,” I say in the same tone I used to tell him to fuck me.